


Bear with me

by LINtmnt



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2018-09-19 01:59:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9412757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LINtmnt/pseuds/LINtmnt
Summary: Michelangelo! The purest angel, the shiniest sun, the sweetest cinnamon roll of them all. No one can outplay his pure sweetness and natural kind-heartedness. But can he keep it up forever? Our world is a harsh and cold place, full of pain and regret. How will Mike deal with all of the mysteries and obstacles it throws at him? How will he find his own piece of happiness?





	1. 1

Chubby feet, stepping lightly on the bare cold concrete, were determinedly making their way along the dim-lit tubular tunnel. Big plush bear, missing one of his black shiny button eyes, was being absently dragged along the floor, wiping away the tiny footprints of its owner.

"Donnie?" – a cautious whisper in the darkness, followed by a creak of an old heavy wooden door, "Dooonnie.." 

Bright light from a silver screen illuminated a pair of widely open curious brown eyes, as the involuntary open mouth revealed several rare white teeth.

"Donnie! Donnie! Donnie!" Chanted the little turtle with excitement.  

"Shhhhh, Mikey!" Donatello put a thick short finger to his lips. 

Michelangelo froze in his place and hid his head inside his shell, so that only his blue eyes were popping out. He stared at his brother in horrified suspense, pulling the tattered teddy-bear to his chest. The older one grimaced, biting his lip, and gestured with his hand for his little brother to come over. Without as much as a second thought, and with the happiest smile on his now carefree (and shell-free) face, Mikey sprinted towards his sibling, smashing into his shell at full throttle, and as a result making quite a commotion.

"Careful! You'll wake somebody…" Irritated, Donatello pushed his brother away with his elbow and rubbed the sore spot where his brother’s hard shell landed. But mere minutes later Mikey was sitting snuggled from behind in his brother's lap, purple fleece blanket up to his nose, the forgotten teddy-bear, lonesomely lying on the floor nearby.

"It’s bad sitting so close to the TV, Donnie…" – said Michelangelo, staring at the silver screen himself, "Daddy says it hurts our eyes! What are we watching?" His expression was of utter excitement, and his thoughts became very messy all of a sudden, because he couldn’t remember why he got out of his bed and came looking for his brother in the first place.

"This is the __Flight of the Navigator__ ” – explained Donatello, his eyes never leaving the screen, “…a fascinating motion picture about an extraterrestrial entity crashing on our planet, and its first encounter with the human species! Now be quiet, this is an intriguing part…"

Michelangelo turned to look at his brother, a blunt startle on his freckled face. Donatello pensively stared back, then suddenly remembering who he was talking to, he gently petted his baby-brother on his round green head, clarifying: "There's a cute alien robot-ship who makes friends with a human boy"

"Oh, wow!" Spellbound, Mikey hungrily gawked back at the screen, "Daddy never lets us watch stuff like this!"

"And that's why we’ll make this our secret, okay? Just you and me… now shush!" – said Donatello, as he pushed his little hand into the Candy Jar at his side.

The Candy Jar! One, they were not allowed to touch. One, that was always on the top shelf, away from their reach. One, that if their father found out they were sneaking candy from (Donatello had worked hard on how to get it) in the last three days, would result in a very severe punishment.

Thoroughly comprehending all of this, Donatello, without blinking, fumbled around the jar pulling out two pieces of candy: a coffee toffee and a strawberry-vanilla lollipop. He slipped the toffee into his mouth, and the lolly - into Mikey's, hoping that the candy would finally quiet his baby-brother down.

However, bemused Michelangelo, humming enthusiastically at the delightful sweetness on his tongue, turned towards his brother again, smiling, lolly's little stick popping out between his lips: "Vhonnie! We're noch shupposhed to eat candhy af-er mi-night! Alsho, how…?" Mikey's face became serious, as he struggled to figure out just how was Donatello able to reach the candy jar in the first place.

Donatello silently pointed to a long wooden staff, leaned on the wall at the corner of the room.

Mickey gasped: "Wir noch'allowed… weapons!" – he swallowed in excitement, popping the lolly out of his mouth and gawking at the bo-staff.

"Don't worry, little-brother, I know how to use a ninja weapon!" – muttered Donatello conceitedly.

"No, you don'!" – exclaimed Mikey.        

"Shhh… Mikey!" Donatello persistently returned the lolly back into its 'rightful' place (inside Mikey's mouth) and hugged his little brother tighter, placing his chin on top of his head. That seemed to work, and for a bit the room fell silent, only the hushed noise of the movie disturbing the stillness.  

Even though the movie fascinated Michelangelo, and it was fun sneaking behind their father’s back to watch tv and eat candy when they were clearly supposed to be asleep, his eyelids became heavier and heavier with every passing minute and his big curious eyes kept blinking more and more rapidly.

“You know you’ll need glasses if you keep sitting so close, Donnie… (yawn) right?” – whispered Michelangelo well into the second half of the movie, when the excitement over the alien robot-ship taking a boy on an adventure around the world was fading and the taste of the candy was all gone.

He was slowly falling asleep, the lit screen coming in and out of focus… In between the alternate flicks of the movie, the reason he was looking for his brother earlier came back to his drowsy mind, and Michelangelo was about to tell Donatello about the brilliant idea he had for the perfect surprise for their father’s upcoming birthday… however, the dark oblivion of sleep took over prematurely, and the little turtle fell into deep slumber…

When Michelangelo opened his eyes, all was quiet, and he found himself curled up under Donatello’s blanket on the rug in the middle of their living room. Donatello himself was right there beside him, sniffling calmly in his sleep, the teddy-bear serving as his pillow.

Mikey wanted to move closer to his brother, but discovered that he was being held in place and couldn’t move. Something was attached to his shell from behind. Carefully turning his head backwards, Michelangelo (imagining all kinds of monsters and scary beasts) saw who it was. Another little turtle was keeping a very strong hold around his waist, chubby green cheeks smeared against the hard surface of the shell.

“Raphie!” Mikey whispered and smiled, snuggling back into the blanket.

But he wasn’t yet ready to give up on Donatello, so a few moments later he stretched out his little hand again, to try and grab his brother… all to no use. He couldn’t do it. Raphael had a dead hold on him, and Donatello was so far away. Suddenly he heard someone approach…

 _ _Oh, no… please, let it not be daddy__ \- prayed Mikey, __we’ll be punished so__ _ _SO__ _ _bad for staying out of our beds this late!__

Several determined steps later (on the way to his usual nightly visit to the ‘little turtle’s room’) the oldest brother - Leonardo appeared in the entrance. Immediately spotting his siblings and their ill-doing, he was about to wake them up and tell them how disobedient they were being, staying up late and falling asleep in front of the tv like that. Father would be furious… It was past 2 am, and there was practice early the next morning… But seeing how peaceful they all looked (they were resting after all, and that was kind'a responsible, more or less), he stepped closer in total silence, looking at how Raphael was clinging to Mikey’s shell. Just like when they were teeny-tiny babies. And how Mikey was curled up in Donatello’s purple blanket, his little hand outstretched towards the brainy brother. Leo’s eyes eventually rested on Donatello, who lay a bit farther away and had his thumb in his mouth. Leonardo dropped his shoulders and shook his head with disapproval, then sighing, he carefully kneeled beside his smartest sibling and tried to remove said thumb, but Donatello’s eyes suddenly popped open: “Leo?!”

Donatello's sleepy expression was worried. He just realized how busted he was: now his older brother (Oh, no, he's frowning!) would surely tell father all about their irresponsible nightly shenanigans. Plus, it was clearly all his fault, because of the movie and the candy and… (What? When did Raphie get here?)… ugh! Now they’ll all be in trouble because of him!

But…

Leonardo suddenly felt that his hand was being pulled. He turned his gaze down, breaking the tensed stare-link with Donatello, and met Michelangelo’s clear blue pleading eyes. The big brother's expression softened and taking a deep breath, he kept silent just standing there in certain dismay. He didn't let go of Mikey's hand, and slowly, as if in a dream, very carefully lowered himself between his brothers, joining in on the turtle pile on the living-room floor. And Donatello hurriedly scooted over to close the gap.

In the morning, panicked rat-dad (he didn’t find his boys in their rooms, after they failed to appear on time at the dojo for the morning lesson) came in on a highly surprising, but at the same time very soothing scene in the living room:

His youngest, Michelangelo, rolled up inside Donatello’s blanket burrito-style, was being snuggled up by his by far most accountable student, Leonardo, who had one of his arms around Donatello, his wisest child, resting his head on a shaggy stuffed teddy-bear (which was brought by Splinter from one of his scavenging trips months ago. He found that old toy in the upper levels of the sewer tunnels that were the closest to the surface, and brought it home with him. It was immediately claimed by Michelangelo… no one argued). Leonardo’s fingers intertwined with Donatello’s, safely keeping the olive-green hand away from the gaped mouth. Michelangelo, smiling in his sleep, was grabbing onto Leonardo’s plastron, while Raphael, the most emotionally indulgent of his sons, had both his hands around his little brother’s shell, protectively hugging him from behind.

The wide smile that slowly appeared on Splinter’s furry face was inevitable. The scene in front of his eyes drove away all of his dismay, and pacified his ever strict educational ideals, making place for the sweet softness of fatherly love and unlimited pride. He stood there for several more minutes before heart-achingly allowing himself to break this perfect picture and wake his children up… 

…then he saw the discarded candy jar!

* * *

 

Excitedly holding onto a wrinkled sheet of paper, light-green speckled fingers shoved it in Donatello’s face: "Look, Donnie! I made a drawing of the surprise! Look! I planned it all out…" Impassioned expression with green happy freckles jumping on his puffed cheeks, Mickey's enormous blue eyes seemed to appear rounder and wider than usual. Still clutching his favorite orange sharpie in his hand, he was using it now as a pointer. 

The expression on Donatello’s face became serious. Letting go of the broken toaster and the screwdriver in his hands, he took the paper out of Mikey's grip and carefully observed it, while his baby-brother clang to his shell from behind, gluing one freckled cheek to his temple and proudly admiring his own work. 

"Hmm... aha!” – said the olive-green terrapin after meticulously squinting at the drawing and turning it around and upside down for about a minute, “I believe we can manage it!"

"Ha! Donnie! Yes!!!" Overflowing with enthusiasm, the little turtle hugged his brother, accidentally smudging his orange sharpie all over his shoulder.

"What are you guys prattling about there?" Leonardo entered the room, wearing a blue baby-blanket, with a duckling in its center, as a cloak. He was closely followed by Raphael, who was stubbornly dragging a long wooden sword, which was clearly too heavy for him to lift up from the floor.

Skipping on one leg in excitement, Mikey ran towards the two, showing them his masterpiece. Tiny leader-to-be gave the picture an observant skeptical look, then turned his eyes over, catching the emerald gaze of the brother behind his back, as the latter was trying to catch his breath, grunting and panting. 

Exuberantly, Mikey shoved the rippling piece of paper right into his brother's grumpy face, "Look, Raphie! I did it! I drew it…the whole thing!"

Raphael looked at the picture: "What's this monstrosity?" – his semi-angry tone teased. 

The pair of bright blue saucers filled up with tears, Mikey bit his lower lip to stop it from trembling, while Donatello protectively embraced his baby-brother's shoulders, accusingly looking at Raphael. 

"Raph… quit being such a meanie!" Leonardo put his hand on top of Michelangelo's head, "Very impressive, Mikey! Father will appreciate this!"

Raphael only snorted and turned his attention back to the wooden weapon in his hands. At first glance, he seemed to be completely disengaged, but a more meticulous observation would have indicated that he kept squinting at his brothers every minute or two.

"Thanks, Leo!" Michelangelo wiped his cute little snout and gazed at Donatello, who was now happily smiling and glancing sideways at him, "You really think he’ll like it? I worked on it all morning!"

"Of course!" Donatello scratched his head, "Now we only need a plan to make your sketch a reality… I have a few ideas, but… hmmm…"

"Great! It's settled then! Raph and I will help!" – said Leo, placing his hands akimbo.

Mikey smiled and winked at Donatello, then turned his head and pouting, put out his tongue toward Raphael, who seemed to be deeply concentrated on picking up that heavy wooden sword from the floor… 

"Boys!" Splinter's voice came out of nowhere, echoing around the tunnel's arched walls, "I hope you have behaved well today!" He had finally returned from his daily trip topside.

All four children ceased what they were doing and turned eight curious and happy eyes toward the direction of their father’s voice. The rat master of ninjitsu appeared from a dark tunnel-opening at the very top, up above their heads, near the ceiling.  

"Daddy, daddy!" Mikey grinned, radiating energy like a little green freckled sun. His ”masterpiece” safely hidden behind his shell, away from sight.

“We were just playing, father” - said Leonardo, but quickly realizing he was not able to lie directly to his sensei, he made a hurried decision: “We wanted to build a… um… what was it exactly that we wanted to build, Raph?”

Everybody looked at Raphael, who froze in place, forgetting what he was doing and his unsuccessful attempts to look as if he didn't care.

Mikey’s face fell a little. And Donatello's expression of horror was clearly justifiable. They were way too familiar with their petulant hotheaded brother. Why would Leo put him in charge of a delicate situation such as this?    

“We were going to… eh… " Raphael searched his brain for a quick evasive answer, "…to build a…”

“...a pirate fort!” Michelangelo inserted.  

“YES!" Raphael’s face brightened up, "Because… because this place is perfect for it!" He let go of the wooden sword and started running around pointing, "This is where the highest tower with the Jolly Roger on the very top would be. And here is where the ship will be anchored… and… and here…”

“I see” - smiled the rat, and tracing his long beard with his bony fingers, added: “And am I correct to assume you will be building this magnificent eh..”

“Fort! Pirate fort!” - helped Donatello, still astonished by Raphael's unlikely cooperation.  

“Yes, yes, fort! You’ll be building it… here?"

“What’s a better timing to build a pirate fort than in the sewer?!” - exclaimed Michelangelo, ingenuously smiling from ear to ear.

"With what materials, if I may ask?” Sensing a deception, the rat raised a bushy eyebrow at his eldest son, “And all of you are serious about this, ha?” Overlooking the rest of his children, he continued, seeing as they were unsuccessfully trying to come up with an appropriate answer.

“Nothing to worry about, Master Splinter, we’ll be careful!” Justified Donatello, “Right, guys?”

Michelangelo nodded excitedly, while Raphael finally balancing the wooden replica of the weapon in his hands, assented: “Yeah! We’re gonna behave, dad! Really!” And he triumphantly looked at Leonardo, who in his turn summed up:

“Don’t worry father. I’ll make sure no one breaks any rules or gets in any harm’s way!”  

“Very well then!” Splinter nodded, accepting their little white lie, being substantially touched by the fact that all four of them bravely stood up for each other (they were becoming a team, a true clan), “But first let’s prepare dinner! Because even pirates need to eat once in a while…” Smiling at the warmth of love spreading from his heart towards all parts of his body, and out towards his little family, Splinter pet Leonardo on his head and offered his free hand to Michelangelo. And leading his little family towards the kitchen, he sighed with gratification.

    

 


	2. 2

Michelangelo opened his eyes not without a difficulty. And for a moment he was not sure he opened them at all. Impenetrable darkness. He couldn't see a thing. Blinking excessively, he tried to make out his surroundings and figure out what kind of a nasty place this hollow, pitch dark dumpy-dump was, cold and smelly like a cave or a deserted mine. Just like in horror movies. He was only missing a monster hiding behind a corner somewhere, maybe a vampire, or a creepy clown popping out of some cellar. Brrr…

A monotone clamor in his ears. "Hello?" - he managed to squeeze out, and heard his voice as if it was someone else talking. It came out gruff and squeaky.

He coughed and swallowed dryly. Sudden, uncontrollable thirst hit him like a sand storm. His tongue felt like sand paper. In fact, it seemed like he was waking from some sort of tranquilizer. When was he drugged..?

"A sip of water would be pretty sweet right about now… or a soda! ..or icecream, mmm that sounds good! And then maybe some pancakes too…" Mike mumbled under his nose, attempting to move, and grunted involuntarily, as he realized it was very hard to lift his head, a massive headache splitting the entirety of his cerebrum into two separate halves. That was probably what snapped him right out of his 'beauty sleep' on this freezing, wet, disgusting ground.

He imagined his scull slowly cracking open, and a pinkish, smiling brain making a run for it, flopping from puddle to puddle.. squelch, squelch, squelch… He smiled to himself through increasing pain, because in spite of the situation, even in a questionable, undetermined predicament such as the one he found himself in, he somehow managed to be ridiculously inappropriate and childish. Always the kidder, forever the silly little brother…

Suddenly he wondered what his brothers were doing now. And his transient confusion began to clear up. "Rooftops.. Donnie.. " - petulant memory images restoring what had happened, temporal fuzziness quickly frisking away, pushing through the thickness of slowly throbbing pain and cloudy consciousness. "I was totes flying…" – he grinned, remembering his brainy-bro's astounded, deeply horrified expression as a result of his enthusiastic acrobatics in the night air of NY City, when they were moving through the rooftops, on their way to… "The Mission!" - it dawned on him. "Leo! Leo was in trouble... I'm here cuz I came to... to help… OH!" Michelangelo's mind caught up at last, "Nasty FEETS got me!"

He immediately tried to get up, or at least sit to an upright position, but found that he couldn't move a muscle. Everything was filled with pain. Of course, as a professional ninja, Michelangelo was certainly accustomed to pain, different amounts of it, different shapes: sharp, nagging, persistent, mental … but those were all local. Strained ankles and wrists, bruises, bloody wounds, broken bones, cracks in the shell, name it, Mike's got them all. But this… this was something else. This pain he experienced was not muscles or shell, nor mental. This was something from inside of him. Like all his inner organs decided to go on a strike and rebel against his entire body. A huge lump, stuck in his throat, threatened to come loose sooner or later.

"What did you get yourself into this time, Mikey?" - he wondered, swallowing and trying to quell the nausea.

And Leonardo's voice in his head instantly answered:

_"Little brother, you're so reckless… and inconsiderate! Why_ _**don't** _ _you_ _**ever** _ _listen to what you're told?! I distinctly asked you_ _**not** _ _to show your shell at the docks! Why did you have to do the exact opposite? Just think of how your stupid trick will worry poor Master Splinter…"_

Michelangelo tried to remember what was the very last thing he said to his father before they all left for the mission. His head hurt so much he couldn't remember. Would that thing, whatever it was, become the very last thing he'd ever say to his dad.. ever?!

Splinter's face appeared before him in his mind, tired and gray, with withered whiskers and fallen ears. Was he crying? How many times did Mike make him worry like this? How many times did he let his father down… Will he ever see him again? He couldn't hold it in any longer and threw up. It was painful, it burned.

The poor turtle shivered on the wet floor, and rocked his shell a little, to take a slightly more comfortable position. If the way he was positioned could even be called comfortable at all… His throat was getting more and more sore and, with whatever-sedatives wearing off, he could feel his jaw slowly swelling up. Obviously, even though he surrendered himself, for Leo's sake, he couldn't as much as let filthy Foot-jerks tie him up without at least a little fight...

Wanting to touch his face to check out that formidable scar he was about to get in place of the bleeding bruise above his left cheek, he discovered another inconvenience: his hands were tied to a surface of a block of concrete, his feet tied together.

"Ugh, rotten pizza stuffing!"

Fecklessly sighing and grunting, Michelangelo managed to lift himself up enough to be able to attach his burning forehead to the cold surface of a rocky wall nearby. Then he breathed in the nasty smells of his 'new home', and continued thinking about his family.

"Donnie would've surely come up with something to get me out of these ropes…"

Brainiac-shaped silhouette showed up right in front of his eyes in the dark:  _"Mikey, where are you?"_

But his brother, his best friend, did not appear as his usual self. This Donnie's face was unrecognizably distorted. His mouth open, unmoving, silent lips stuck in a mute grimace of a scream. His hands, trying to grab him, pull him away, save him… Bitter tears rolling down olive-green cheeks, as the outstretched fingers vanished, like a gust of smoke, in front of Mike's face.

"Shell!" Tears appeared in Michelangelo's eyes, as he realized what he had done. "I didn't mean to… I never wanted to hurt you!" - he sniffled, "..any of you…" - rolling his aching head from side to side on the surface of a freezing solid wall, he silently cried.

" _Stop'it! Enough a'ready! Quit whining like a lil' kid!"_

"Raphie!?" - he shuddered, "He's probably SO MAD"

Raphael would do anything to get his precious little brother to safety. He would smash these walls and wreck this whole place to the ground to get to him! With fire in his emerald eyes, he would curse and spit:  _"Mikey, ya' idiot! What've ya' done?! How am I s'pposed to get'cha out, if_ _ **ya'**_ _don' even know where the shell ya' at?!"_

Michelangelo heard himself huskily laughing in frustration, a questionable maneuver, which soon turned into a wet cough. A rusty taste appeared in his mouth, and he spit out some blood… he was now fully aware of all the damages his body suffered, feeling every single nerve in his system pulsating with agony. The effect of whatever sedatives he was on before worn completely off.

He closed his eyes, barely successful at remaining conscious, the pain was too much to bear, and tried to think about something not devastating. His friends and family! They were alright. They must have been! They were all safe! Leo was safe…

"Don't worry about good ol' Mikster…" Everything was PAIN. "I'm 'flying'… "

Obscure numbness enclosed all consciousness once again.

* * *

Low baritone, humming a simple tune, foreign and strange, but at the same time somehow familiar, warm and loving…

It was dark, aside from a single candle on the floor and a small reading-lamp, cracked at its side, standing on top of a pyramid of wooden boxes, serving as a cupboard. The rat, sitting in a cushioned pedestal from a variety of old pillows and blankets, was leisurely flipping through yellowed-with-age pages of a big book: |"Fairytales from Around the World". This book had many, many stories accompanied by colorful pictures, illustrating numerous cultures, a variety of supernatural beings and different folk beliefs.

At rat's feet, in a large wicker basket, being slowly cradled by his long tail, fast asleep, lay two little brothers, cuddled together in a knot of green skin and rough shell; the bigger one overlapping his sniffling, thumb-sucking smaller sibling; it wasn't clear, though, whether protectively, or in a desperate need for closeness and warmth.

Another tiny turtle was clinging to rat's right leg, unsuccessfully trying to keep his tiny eyes open. From time to time he would give a big yawn, his head would drop, and his grip would loosen, as it would seem that he fell deeply asleep. But as soon as his father's humming would stop, or change and turn into a new melody, the tiny turtle straightened up again, blinking into the darkness as if saying: I am not asleep. I am here to protect you from the monsters of the night, daddy.

Inside the folds of rat's old kimono, sinking into rich, brown, warm fur on his parent's chest, there was a fourth brother; his eyes wide, his mouth open in full attention, three tiny green freckles on his left cheek, two on his right. He was staring at the beautiful pictures, excitedly pointing at the book on his father's lap. Not a hint of sleepiness on his cute, chubby, little face. He simply couldn't imagine how anyone could fall asleep looking at all those wonderful things.

"Look, daddy!" Gazing at all these beautiful illustrations, Michelangelo could hardly keep his excitement down, persistently pointing at one, "He can fly!"

Albeit he was distinctly told, it would be ok to look at the pictures only as long as he would keep quiet and let his brothers rest. But this one picture was more important than the shallow promise he gave his father. Michelangelo wanted to know more about that magical flying boy and he couldn't keep his excitement steady.

"Green…" Michelangelo's face came so close to the picture, he almost fell out of the kimono's folds, but Splinter's quick hands were there right on time, to grab his little overenthusiastic son, and safely put him back inside the warmness and familiar smell of his chest "…like me… and Leo, and Raphie and Donnie!" Michelangelo patted the brown fur that was surrounding him like a fluffy blanket, and added: "But… not like you…"

Splinter smiled with his eyes, as he gazed at his youngest, but he didn't cease his humming, he didn't, of course, want to wake the little 'sleepless' protector at his feet again. Plus, he was still hoping to get this one, the overexcited one in his lap, to sleep.

Michelangelo smiled and touched Peter Pan's chest, with green, drawn leaves floating on the page, and his own plump, light-green, three fingered palm came in sight in front of his eyes. He blinked and leaned back into the inviting warmness inside the kimono again.

"What is 'human', daddy? Donnie said… we are not! He said we are different. Why is that..?"

* * *

"No! ..no, no! What did I tell you, idiots?! DO NOT HARM HIM!" - Unnerved voice penetrated Michelangelo's cognition, terminating his ineligible hibernation mode, and causing the amazing flying boy to vanish into nothingness again.

The grim reality of the smelly, filthy dungeon came to be the inevitable reality of his existence once again. And as he was about to open his eyes, a sharp beam of blinding light hit his shut eyelids, so that the beat-up turtle hid his face inside his shell.

"Ugh!" went the same voice again, "Are you kidding me? Look at this poor thing! What have you done to him? Really… was  **this** absolutely necessary?" A cold hand gently touched Mikey's bound feet, "We're in a secured location! Underground! In a highly equipped chamber, made of concrete stone, for god's sake! What? Did you think all of this wasn't enough, so you tied up his feet?! You morons! Immediately cut him loose of his… rubbish! GENTLY!"

Working fast as a lightning, two pairs of hands let Michelangelo free, dropping the ropes to the floor in mere seconds, in a manner definitely opposite to being gentle.

Foot ninja - rushed through his mind.

"Now get out! OUT! I'll talk to your supervisor.. eh, Master, about this… this violation of a direct order!"

"With all due respect, Kuma-san, we don't take orders from you!" – a hushed voice calmly replied.

"Ah! Whatever! Just leave! Go…" – frustrated exhalation and a sound of a door being shut with a heavy thud.

" _Shimatta! Baka no ashigaru!"_ Then in a softer, more cheerful tone:" _Ima wa_.. let's see what we can do to make it a little bit better,  _ne_?"

Rubbing his sore ankles and wrists, Mike listened, distinctly recognizing the familiar Japanese expressions. And when he more or less adjusted to the light, he looked into the face of his captor. And couldn't believe his very eyes. It was her! The girl from his recurring dreams. Or was it nightmares? The very same! The one who turned into a bear…


End file.
